


A Helping Hand

by Tenebrosa



Series: Bros Helping Bros [2]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenebrosa/pseuds/Tenebrosa
Summary: He wants to help. Robert had...that night in the woods was...he needs to try.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a sequel to "An Intervention" but can be read as a standalone.

It’s way too early for him to be doing this. Craig knows full well Robert barely in bed by 5am, let alone awake enough to talk to him. But he’s on a tight schedule today and sacrificing his morning jog is about the only way he’ll be able to help.

And he wants to help. Robert had...that night in the woods was...he needs to try.

It was Damien who’d tipped him off, stepping close, careful hand on his bicep, head tipped in secret. Told him Robert was cracking, not visibly yet but it was coming. Too many drinks and late nights, not enough rest, going too hard for too long and hurtling towards a wall that was going to knock him flat.

_”I don’t know the...specifics of your acquaintanceship,” Damien had hedged, looking nervous, a faint blush along his cheeks, “but he’s enamored of you, that much is obvious. If you could...anything would help.”_

His knuckles hit Robert’s front door in a fast pace, taptaptap, just like the quick beat of his heart. The man could very well tell him to fuck off but...no. Craig squares his shoulders and knocks again, solidly this time, confidence in movement.

He needs to try.

There’s a shuffle from behind the door and then it creaks open a crack, just enough for one bloodshot eye to glare at him.

“What the fuck.” Robert’s voice is sleep-rough, whiskey-gravel deep, and his cheeks are creased with pillow marks when the door swings open just a bit further.

Not enough to be an invitation, not that Craig would be stupid enough to step inside without explicit permission anyhow.

“Morning, man!” He forces a smile onto his face, waving a hand. “I was stopping by to see if I could...ah...borrow you?”

Robert doesn’t answer, unless folded arms and one arched brow count as answer. 

Craig thinks they might just, in this case.

Damn, he _does_ look rough, now that he can see him. Stripped down to a shirt and boxers, both of them wrinkled and too loose on him. His hair is a mess atop his head, scruff thick on his jaw, and the dark circles under his eyes make him look like he lost some back alley brawl.

“For what.”

Still not a question.

Alright, time to pull out the big guns. Because Robert looks seconds from slamming the door in his face and stomping back to whatever he was doing. 

Craig fists the bottom of his shirt, pulls it away from his body with an exaggerated grimace like the fabric is sticking, and somehow manages to hide his smirk when Robert’s gaze instantly drops. He’s aware of how other people see him, how _Robert_ sees him, and he’s totally not above abusing that attraction to help out a bro.

“Just finished my run and I’m all dirty,” total lie, unless filthy thoughts about how Robert’s beard would feel on his thighs counts, “was hoping you could scrub my back?”

“You woke me up. At five in the fucking morning. To ask me to _shower_ with you.”

That’s not a good tone. But Robert hasn’t hauled off and smashed the door into his face either, so...not bad? So far?

“Well,” he bends an arm, scrubs at the back of his neck, purposefully flexes his bicep. “I mean...if you’re busy, I don’t wanna bother you. I just...y’know...was feeling some kind of way, bro.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Despite the words, Robert reaches out, fists up the front of his shirt and hauls him inside. He shuts the door with Craig’s body, forcing him up against it, and kisses him almost violently. It’s vicious and uncontrolled, like Robert’s hands as they slide all over his front. Tweaking his nipples, digging thumbs into his hips, careful on the sides of his throat to tip his head a certain way.

It feels like he’s being _devoured_.

“G-Guess that’s a yes?” He manages between biting kisses and tempting slides of Robert’s tongue.

Robert snorts, starts walking backwards. He’s distantly aware of something small and furry sniffing at their heels until Robert shuts the bathroom door and flicks on the light. 

Shit. He looks _worse_ under fluorescents. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. Robert doesn’t look like he needs a fuck, he looks like he needs a nap. 

Several naps, in fact. Very long naps.

But he doesn’t get a chance to put a stop to anything, letting Robert’s grabbing hands strip him out of his clothes with ease. His phone is carefully set on the counter, still inside him armband, before Robert’s back on him. It feels...strange and amazing to feel the brush of a shirt against his bare stomach, the rub of boxers against his cock when Robert grinds him back against yet another door.

“You?” He asks, fingers catching the hem of the shirt and whipping it over and off when Robert nods an agreement.

One smooth push against the boxers and they’re gone too, kicked off to the side as Robert steps back for a split second.

“I know what you’re doing.” He says evenly, turning to twist the water on, glass door slide aside. “But I’ll let you get away with it...for now.”

“No idea what you’re talking about, bro.” Craig takes the opportunity to plaster himself against Robert’s back, rutting his cock against the surprisingly soft curve of his ass.

Robert straightens, reaches back to tangle fingers in his hair, gently guides it aside until they can kiss over his shoulder. Awkward but still hot, especially when Robert arches his back, pressing his ass into the next tentative thrust.

It takes them a moment to disengage and actually get under the water, but they finally manage it. Craig even remembers to slide the door closed, keeping the water contained...and keeping Robert in there with him.

If he really did figure it out, no telling how he might react. Craig wants at least something to slow him down if he decides to try and toss him out by his ear. 

“I can take care of myself.” Robert hisses, seizing him by the shoulders and dragging him close to bite a mark into the curve of his jaw. “I don’t need some meddling kid to fuck around with me just to cheer me up.”

“H-hey,” damn, it’s hard to talk when Robert’s doing something amazing with his tongue and teeth right up against his pulse. “I just thought...y’know...after what happened in the woods.”

“You don’t _owe_ me.” Robert lets him go, steps back inside the small space and--shit.

No, no, no. This isn’t happening. It isn’t all going to go to shit suddenly because of some stupid miscommunication.

“Not what I meant, man.” Craig does the only thing he can think of; reaches down and wraps a hand around Robert’s cock.

It works, if the way Robert’s head thuds back against the wall is any indication. The water falls between them, background noise to the panting groans Craig yanks free with every twist of his wrist. 

“Last time...you helped me de-stress. Whole point of that drive, right? So I figure I can return that favor. Help you out too. And trust me, bro, this isn’t totally selfless.” Craig grins, knows Robert catches it when his mouth twists into a scowl and his eyes slit open. “You’re fucking hot. This isn’t some sort of pity fuck.”

“Glad to hear you approve.”

Attitude isn’t what he needs right now. But what he _does_ need is within easy reach. 

Craig drops to his knees easily, body accepting the shock of hitting the ground, and licks a slow stripe up the length of the cock he’s still holding. One hand instantly grabs his hair, wet strands tangling around Robert’s fingers as he groans out something unintelligible above him.

“Relax.” He murmurs, so close his lips brush the head while he talks. “Just let me blow you.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Well. He heard _that_ loud and clear.

It’s been a while, but Craig fucked around enough in college that he falls back into a pattern easy enough. Keep his breathing steady, suck hard on the pullback, pump his hand when he’s got just the head of Robert’s cock between his lips. He gets brave, once or twice, and sinks down so far he can nuzzle his nose against the pubes at Robert’s hips.

Feels _good_. He forgot how much he loved the stretch of something down his throat. A cock blocking his air for a split second, muscles clenching tight against an intrusion and dragging more filth curses into the air between them.

He can’t swallow him down as often as he wants, the water makes it hard to breathe through his nose, but it’s more than enough. Robert’s thighs spasm against the forearms he’s using to pin them down, muscles jumping like crazy as he starts pulling at Craig’s hair almost frantically.

“Pull back or it’s-- _fuck_ , you sonofabitch--pull back or it’s going down your _goddamn_ throat.”

He doesn’t.

One careful inhale and Craig sinks down all the way, tongue flicking out to press wet and hot against Robert’s balls. It’s harder to roll his eyes up, but he does, staring up the length of Robert’s body. He gets the faintest impression of wide eyes, a shocked mouth fallen open wide, before the first spurt of come hits his throat.

He swallows. Because he wants to and because Robert deserves it. And Craig relishes every half-choked moan of his name he gets for the extra effort. 

Robert finally yanks him back by his hair once he’s swallowed the last bit of it, hands on either side of his head, staring down at him like he just witnessed a miracle. He looks...a bit better, actually. His skin glows in the wake of an orgasm and his eyes are lazy focused, no more laser sharp distrust, just plain old happiness.

Something in Craig’s stomach blooms hot and sharp at the sight. One very, very visible “you did good” hanging right over Robert’s head.

“All better, bro?” He says, teasing and soft, before yelping when Robert’s expression crashes into focus and he’s yanked to his feet.

“Cute. Fucking adorable. Get your ass up here, I’m not done with you.”

.O.

“T-This was supposed to be--ah, oh my god, bro--this was about you.” Craig can barely get the words out, brain scrambled and sliding out his ears at the way Robert twists his fingers inside him.

“Yeah, and now it’s about you.” He does something again, taps his fingers against Craig’s prostate, and another bit of sanity slips out. “What? Did you think I was just gonna let you blow me and go home?”

He can’t answer. Doesn’t actually remember what the hell Robert even said a few seconds after the words are out. All he can do is grip the blankets, rub his head restlessly against the pillow, and shudder when Robert’s beard scrapes against his sensitive inner thigh.

His body’s twisted up. Torso torqued at an odd angle, one thigh pinned under Robert’s weight as he straddles it, the other pushed up and out from his core. Totally exposed to anything Robert wants to do to him.

Which, at the moment, seems to be finger-fuck him until he’s screaming.

“So tempted to eat you out.” Robert murmurs, pressing a kiss to his bent knee, hand slipping in the sweat that’s gathering behind it. “Bet you look so fucking precious falling apart like that. Did you do that in college, kid? Any of those fucking jocks you screwed around with ever lick you out ‘til you came?”

Craig shakes his head furiously, face flushed, foot slipping where he’s planted it on Robert’s shoulder for some sort of balance. Robert laughs, low and rough, before stretching his fingers apart, pressure making something electric crawl up his spine. There’s a backdrop white noise of filth and it’s hard to focus on actual words when his ears are so tuned to it.

He does, of course. Because what Robert’s saying is quite _literally_ driving him out of his mind.

“Course not. That’s next on the list. Next time you feel stressed, next time you think I need a ‘helping hand’, I’m gonna track you down. And you’re gonna sit your pretty ass on my face and let me tongue fuck you until you come.”

“Robert!” Craig yelps, mortified and too turned on to speak as Robert _grinds_ two fingers against his prostate. “I’m gonna--you’re gonna make me--I can’t--”

“Come on, sweetheart. Be a good boy, be _my_ good boy, and let me see you come.”

After that it’s all unintelligible babble, Craig’s brain moving faster than he can make words as he comes.

The image alone. The idea of how that would even _feel_. He’s never--sure, he’s seen it in porn but to have it in reality...to have Robert scratch up his thighs with that beard of his, to ride his face like he’s desperate to ride his cock...

His brain reboots a while later, after Robert has wiped him down with careful hands and is sitting on the end of the bed, smoking and watching him with an unreadable expression. The smell makes him crave it again, memories of a truck bed and a forest and Robert’s words as he makes both of them come. But Craig pushes himself to sitting, shoves down the desire--he can’t possibly take up smoking again. 

He’ll just...use Robert as his personal nicotine. Going by the smirk on the man’s lips as he watches him, he really won’t mind.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“How long was I out, man?” Craig looks around for his phone, winces when he realizes he left it in the bathroom.

Shit, the girls could’ve needed him. Of course, they can’t get rid of him fast enough when he drops them at church with Joseph but _still_. Something could’ve happened to River, maybe something went down at work, maybe one of the team moms needed info on a game--

“Calm the fuck down.” Robert tosses something at him and Craig snaps out a hand to catch it on instinct. 

His phone. Black screen, no blinking notifications, nothing on the preview screen when he flips it on. 

“Kept an eye on it while you rested. No texts or calls. Silent as a mouse.”

“Thanks, bro.” It’s more heartfelt than it probably should be but Craig _has_ to say it.

He’s never seen Robert check his own phone, or even have it most times. That he knew Craig would worry, that he thought to go grab it when he’s probably exhausted himself…

“Don’t worry about it.” Robert stabs out the cigarette and stands, crossing to the bed. “Now, much as you make a pretty sight in my bed, get the fuck out of it. You’ve got shit to do and I’ve got an appointment with those sheets for the next 8 hours.”

Craig obeys, feeling a bit off kilter as Robert collapses face down into the pillows, still naked, hair a bit damp against the pillows.

“Uh…” Where the hell are his clothes? He’s not running back to his house naked. 

One lost poker bet against Brian taught him that he’s not quite fast enough to avoid scaring the holy hell out of Hugo.

“Clothes on the dresser.” Robert mumbles.

“Uh...thanks.” He dresses, pauses with his hand on the doorknob, looking back at Robert’s sprawled form.

He should...say something, right? Because this feels...hella weird.

“Uh...so…”

“Craig,” Robert lifts his head, glares at him--though the effect is ruined by the tousled hair falling across his brow like a kid. “Get the hell out of my house and let me sleep. Go do whatever superhuman shit you do on a daily basis. Call me tonight. And stop _worrying_ so goddamn much.”

“Right!” Craig nods, opens the door and quickly makes his way through the house.

He hesitates for a split second near the door, watching a small boston terrier snore loudly from a lavish bed in the living room, before he exits out into the bright sun. Craig allows himself a split second to lean against the door, smiling like an idiot.

Robert wants him to call. He actually told him to call him. And he was going to sleep. 

“Job well done, dude!” He punches the air, winces when it makes Daisy pause from where she’s loading fishing equipment into the back of Brian’s truck, before trying to turn it into an awkward half wave.

Whatever. Nothing's gonna ruin his mood today. He did a stellar job making Robert relax _and_ he’s got another chance to do it again tonight. 

And, if this keeps up and Robert doesn’t suddenly kick his ass to the curb, many more chances ahead of him.


End file.
